Learn to Love This Life
by MidnightRoulette
Summary: Marishka Alenikov and her family have protected their town from the undead for centuries. When Dean and Sam Winchester show up, itching to join the fight, Marishka must learn to deal with the consequences of her extreme past and secluded life. Dean/OC/Sam
1. First Sight

Author's Note: Hi guys! This is my second story that I'm posting and I'm trying to experiment a little bit with other character's—besides my own—points of view and thoughts. I just recently started watching Supernatural and I immediately fell in love with the show. I'm not majorly in tune with all the intricacies of the lore and I've only made it to season three so forgive any mistakes I make. This story starts with season one just after the second episode "Wendigo." Anyways constructive criticism is always appreciated and I encourage you guys to correct any mistakes I might make with the story line. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: First Sight

Marishka was a hunter, born and bred. As she stood on the roof of the rundown dairy factory, she furtively glanced around for any signs of movement. She looked down into the building through the sky lights.

The pulsating techno music and smoke machines made it difficult for her to keep watch over them, but she still saw. She _always _saw.

Brasov Heights was a small and reclusive town in the most heavily forested part of the Pacific Northwest. Everyone knew everybody's business and family bonds and alliances ran extremely deep. The same applied to their feuds.

The Alenikov family had been in Brasov Heights since the boat had come over from Romania. As such, they were privy to the seemingly innocuous town's deepest secrets. Marishka liked to think of them as the town's very own protectors. Protectors against an evil that the _oblivious_ townspeople of Brasov Heights were more than happy to have forgotten over the past hundred years.

Marishka could spot an outsider in a split millisecond. These two guys, were definitely outsiders.

Outsiders begging to get themselves killed. The taller one—the brunette—was awkwardly trying to avoid the various partiers at the rave. He seemed to shift uncomfortably as girls rubbed against him. _Shy, _Marishka assessed with confidence.

The other one, who was only slightly shorter with dirty blonde hair, was the complete opposite. He walked with a cocky swagger, welcomed any and all female attention. He commanded respect and the eyes of most of the female partygoers.

Marishka followed them with her eyes. These weren't typical outsiders. She had broken into the back of their car earlier and discovered guns filled with rock salt bullets, silver bullets—good for killing werewolfs, holy water and a Latin bible.

And more guns. _Lots _of guns.

She didn't know much about hunting demons, but she _did _know that holy water was especially effective in deterring a vampire. It wouldn't actually do permanent harm, but it apparently burned their skin.

These outsiders obviously carried a heavy burden between the two of them. It was evident in their weighted stances, the almost feral look in their eyes.

The blonde one looked as if he would laugh in the face of death itself. On the other hand, the brunette looked to be the cautious and unsure of what was to come next.

Neither foolhardy bravery or any amount of caution would help them stop the coven of vampires plaguing Brasov Heights.

Marishka's stormy grey eyes followed them as they turned to one another and seemed to come to a decision. They slithered through the throngs of people and exited the rave and the building.

She paused to glance at her father's old wrist watch and found the time. 12:43 am.

She stood up and brushed off her pants. _Time still remains,_ she reminded herself_._

* * *

><p>"Look Sammy, we've been here for two days and all we've managed to find is a bunch of rotting dead bodies in a basement," Dean reminded his younger brother. "It's probably just a serial killer."<p>

Sam shook his head. "That warehouse building may have been a bust, but there's something wrong here. I can feel it."

"Oh! You can _feel _it can you?" Dean scoffed. "Well that's definite reason to—"

Dean broke off the as the door to the diner opened. A girl, aged somewhere in her early twenties strolled in and greeted the owner of the diner. He took in her long brown hair and, once she was close enough, started to notice… other things as well. For example, the way her waist curved in perfectly just underneath those—

"What are you lo—" Sam turned around and immediately cut off his statement as he spotted the girl. She had taken a seat at the counter and was pointedly staring at both he and Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes as he turned back towards his brother. "Put your eyes back in your head."

Dean smirked and sipped his water, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "That attitude—" Dean pointed a finger at his brother, "—is why you never get laid."

"Were working a job Dean," Sam reminded him, "try and keep it in your pants."

Dean coughed and laughed slightly. "We still don't even know if anything is wrong with this town. My gut tells me it's just a serial killer."

"A serial killer that leaves victims without any wounds besides bite marks and the occasional _piece of missing flesh_?" Sam asked disbelievingly.

"Come on Sammy," Dean groaned. "Vampires don't actually exist! Don't you think Dad would've told us about them?"

"Dad hasn't exactly been up front and honest with us lately," Sam reminded his brother.

"Don't you think I know that, idiot?" Dean scoffed.

Sam rolled his eyes again and yawned. He glanced at his watch. 1:13 am. "It's getting late. We can decide what to do about this tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good to me," Dean said, fishing a few bills out of his pocket. He glanced up at the girl once more, shaking his head ruefully and stood up. Sam followed suit and the two of them made their way out the diner.

Once the two of them had gone, Marishka slapped a five on the counter, finished off her coffee and followed the brothers once more.

* * *

><p>Marishka sat upon the cheap wooden desk in room 216 at the Chipper Motel. She had been watching the brother's sleep for some time now and nothing interesting had happened yet.<p>

She wasn't sure what she had been waiting for. Irritable movements? For one of them to wake up? Marishka wasn't sure how to handle conversing with complete strangers. It wasn't something she felt comfortable doing. There was a strange pulling sensation in her stomach when she watched the Winchesters; she was intrigued by them.

Intrigued, yet frightened. There were so many unknown variables when dealing with strangers.

So Marishka sat in idle silence, thinking upon her position and the best way to resolve the problem.

The younger, yet taller Winchester, moved around in his sleep quite a bit, she had noticed. He was clearly restless and mumbled nothings into his pillow. _Sam, _she recalled, havingheard his name back in the diner. He seemed to be more approachable than his brother, and had kinder eyes.

Dean, the slightly shorter brother, stayed completely still in his sleep. It was unnerving for Marishka, who was a restless sleeper herself. Stillness was connected with silence and most likely a dreamless sleep. Marishka was of the opinion that dreams were a direct representation of a person's soul. To have no dreams was like… well having no soul.

Marishka shook her head and hopped off the desk, taking care to make sure that she didn't make a thud on the carpeted floor. She made a snap decision to simply leave a message for the brothers. _No human contact necessary_.

She drew her knife out of her back pocket and flipped the switchblade walking over to the wall space in between the hotel beds. Carefully, she inched the lamp back and stepped up onto the bedside table, placing the knife against the wall. She started carving the letters into the wall when the older Winchester was startled awake.

"Holy shit!" He shouted, reaching under his pillow. Dean grabbed at his knife and immediately flung it at a screaming Marishka. It plunged deep into her thigh just before she tumbled off of the table.

"_La Naiba!_" she let out a curse in Romanian. "Please wait!"

"What the hell?" Sam demanded, to no one in particular. He was still groggy from sleep.

"I—I apologize," Marishka ground out through her teeth. "I did not mean to startle you, Sam and Dean Winchester."

"How the fuck do you know our names?" Dean growled. He had grabbed his gun and cocked it as Marishka straightened up, her arms in the air.

"Wait a second," Sam said, holding his arm out in front of his brother. As if that would stop the bullet. "You're that girl from the diner!"

Dean lowered his gun and studied Marishka more closely. "Damn straight," he muttered. He raised the gun again after giving her an appreciative glance. "But seriously, how do you know us? You the one that's been following us?"

"You're hunters and yes, I have been trailing you since you arrived," Marishka hissed, grabbing the hilt on the knife. She looked away as she yanked the blade from inside her quadriceps muscle, hissing as she felt the blade slice through her skin once more.

"How do you know we're hunters?" Sam asked.

"It is obvious from the way that you walk. The things you carry in your car. You hunt things," Marishka said. "Other hunters have passed through in the past." She backed away from the older Winchester who still had his gun trained on her, applying pressure to her steadily bleeding wound.

"First thing's first, what the hell are you doing here?" Dean asked.

"I came to leave you a message," Marishka informed them, pointing to the wall.

The word _please_ was all she had been able to carve into the wall. Dean and Sam turned their attention back to the young brunette.

"You couldn't just speak with us?" Dean scoffed.

"At a normal hour?" Sam added.

Marishka shook her head. "I did not want to make contact with you unless it was absolutely necessary." She glanced at both of them with a superior expression. "You are running around my territory as if you are a chicken with its head cut off. And you are fixing to get yourselves killed if you continue on in this manner."

"Excuse me?" Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "Territory?"

Dean looked at Marishka. "Are you a hunter?"

"I am a protector," Marishka corrected them. "My family has protected this land for centuries."

"Protected the land from what?" Dean asked.

"You know what we're up against, right?" Sam looked meaningfully at Dean.

"Vampires." Dean scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. "They are monsters," Marishka hissed, sensing his skepticism. "Filthy creatures who prey on the innocent. You should leave before you become one of their victims."

"Now hold on a damn minute here missy," Dean snapped, waving his gun around. "We're experienced hunters. And _our _advice to _you _is that you go back to the sandbox and wait a few years before you decide to join the big leagues."

"My age is three and a twenty if you must know," Marishka said irritably. She looked towards Sam. "Do you have any stitching material? My father will not be pleased with me if I return home with an infected wound."

"Sure thing," Sam answered quietly, walking over to their duffles.

Dean watched his brother with barely disguised annoyance. "Sammy."

"Cool it, Dean," Sam said. Dean looked surprised at his brother's harsh tone.

Marishka stared at the elder Winchester. "You know not what you hunt, Dean Winchester."

"_You know not what you hunt?_ Seriously?" He snorted. "Where'd you learn to talk? The eighteen-hundreds?"

"I beg your pardon?" Marishka furrowed her eyebrows. "I merely meant to convey to you that you are about as experienced as my youngest brother once was—" Dean raised his eyebrows "—when he was a boy of but six years old."

Dean snarled, stepping closer to Marishka. "You've got a lot of damn nerve walkin' into _my_ hotel room and trying to tell _me _what to do."

Marishka stared back at Dean, her grey eyes merely searching his face. She turned away as Sam held out their first aid kit. "If you will excuse me for but a moment, I must tend to my wounds."

* * *

><p>"<em>I must tend to my wounds,"<em> Dean mimicked, infusing his voice with an annoyingly high pitched Romanian accent as Marishka entered their bathroom and locked the door. He turned on his brother, fuming visibly. "What the hell are you thinking, helping this crazy bitch?"

Sam snorted. "Dude, you're not the one stitching up a gaping knife wound. She is. I mean, I knew you kept a knife under your pillow but I didn't think you'd actually throw it before you looked to see who was in our room."

" Oh come on!" Dean scoffed. "What the hell is she trying to do here? She broke into our room and tried to carve some weird message into the wall with _her _knife."

Sam chuckled. "She did write the word _please._"

"Yeah, she wants _us _to _please leave _apparently." Dean slapped a hand to his face and sat down on his bed. "Please tell me you're not considering letting this little girl boss us around."

"She knows what we're up against, Dean," Sam shrugged, sitting down across from him.

Dean stared at him acidly. "Oh really? 'Cause my bullshit detector was beeping up a storm."

"Look, she's a local and she knows that _vampires_ are behind the killings," Sam reasoned. "She obviously knows _something._"

Dean shook his head. There were too many unknowns, too many obstacles. And how was he supposed to trust that vampires were even real? Their Dad had never told them anything about it. For all they knew, this girl was just some schizophrenic psycho path. Of course there was always the risk that she could get hurt or betray them and _they _could get hurt. Anything and everything could go wrong. Dean knew that better than anyone.

"It's a one-time deal," Sam promised.

"I don't like it," Dean growled, feeling his will begin to bend under the scrutiny of his brother. "I mean that I don't want some inexperienced little girl getting in the way," Dean explained. "She could get hurt and then _you'll _feel bad—"

"I am able to protect myself, Dean Winchester." Marishka appeared at the doorway of their bathroom. A thick band wrapped was clearly wrapped around her upper thigh, obviously where she had stitched the knife wound. "You needn't worry about me."

Dean shared a loaded look with his brother, trying to convey his irritation. "Uh, fine whatever… Look uh—" Dean broke off as he realized he did not know her name.

"Marishka Alenikov," she finished for him.

Sam nodded. "We'd like your help Marishka. We want to find and kill these vampires before they can do anymore damage."

Dean watched as an unknown emotion passed through Marishka's stormy grey eyes at the sound of the word _killed_. Dean wondered if killing made her squeamish or if she was planning on betraying them.

"If you will not be swayed by the danger, then you must accompany me to my home," Marishka explained. "We will speak to my father, where he will make everything clear to you."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Hey sorry guys, another AN. Just in case you're wondering or if it wasn't clear, Marishka's family is Romanian and English is her second language. Thanks!<p> 


	2. The Father

Author's Note: Okay, chapter two. Just to make sure you guys understand. This story will _not_ be one of those fluffy pieces completely surrounding the romance. There is a bigger plot element at work here, I promise. This story also has a bit more angst than I'm used to writing, but I feel like Marishka's story—although she is a fictional character in a _fan fiction— _is important. Her personal background strongly resembles a good friend of mine's and I think the story deserves to be told in some way. I have changed it quite a bit, simply because this _is _a Supernatural fic and not a retelling of my friend's life. However, these first couple chapters will strongly explore Marishka's past and hopefully explain how she is. On another note, feedback would be much appreciated. Even if you hate the story, please tell me. Thank you and enjoy!

Chapter Two: The Father

Marishka had decided that she rather liked riding in a car. Her father had a distinct grudge against all types of technology. They didn't even own a television, let alone a car.

She ran her hands along the leather seats, enjoying the feel of it beneath her cold hands. She glanced up in time to see Dean staring at her suspiciously in the rear view mirror.

"Enjoying the ride?" Dean asked, taking a swig out of his travel coffee cup.

Marishka nodded thoughtfully. "I've never been driven in an automobile before this."

Dean choked on his coffee, sharing a startled look with his brother. "Excuse me?"

"My father," Marishka said, "is a bit… eccentric. He is mistrustful of modern technology."

Dean coughed. "I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but the car isn't exactly a _modern _technological breakthrough. It's been around for quite some time."

"I'm aware." Marishka turned her head away, staring out the window. "Drive six more miles down this road and turn left onto the hill."

"Internal GPS?" Sam laughed, turning to Marishka with a small smile.

She stared at him with a blank expression. "GPS?"

Sam's smile was replaced with a confused look and he abruptly turned around, sharing a look with his brother.

_These men are definitely strange, _Marishka realized as they drove further down the road. Her father _had _warned her that his one-time colleague John Winchester was an odd man himself, and that his sons would be no different.

For a brief moment, Marishka felt a pang for her brothers. Any one of them would have been much better at talking to the Winchesters. They could've approached them as another hunter would have, been able to gain their trust more easily.

Marishka was just a girl. To the other hunters that often passed through their town, she was just something pretty to look at.

Her father had always made it clear that while Marishka was his darling—only, really—daughter, she was no son, and therefore, she was useless. The absolute only reason she was allowed to learn how to hunt the undead was because she was the only child left.

Mikhail, her youngest brother at twenty five, was out running around through the United States, looking for something to kill. Her eldest brother Caleb was in Romania the last she had heard from him, staying at their family's house and dealing with the ever constant coven that plagued Transylvania. And Sasha…

Marishka stopped her train of thought there, deciding that now was not the best time to think of her family's middle son. Dean had already pulled to a stop in front of the house anyways.

"We have arrived at our destination," Marishka announced.

"Dude, she even talks like a GPS," Dean snorted, elbowing his brother in the rib cage.

Marishka sighed, thoroughly confused, and slid out of the Impala.

Sam ignored Dean's last jibe, instead focusing on Marishka's house.

_Holy shit_, he let out a low whistle. He'd only ever seen houses like this on rare, rare occasions. It looked ancient, hundreds of years old probably. It wasn't huge, per se, but it gave the appearance of elegance with its towering columns.

As they approached it, Sam realized with disappointment that the paint was chipped off almost completely on some of the wooden panels. The yard was overgrown and the roof shingles were coming off. It would have been beautiful had it not been in such a state of disrepair. Sam still thought that it was interesting, however broken and beat up it was.

_Rough around the edges, _he assessed.

He barely avoided tripping over a loose board on the steps. Dean turned to him and raised his eyebrows as Marishka approached the front door. She furtively glanced around before reaching for lifting up one of the sideboards of the house and taking out a key.

"Father," she called, pushing the creaking door open. "I have brought the Winchesters."

Sam and Dean followed Marishka into her house. Sam stepped carefully on the old wooden floor, feeling like the boards were about to break at any second. Of course, the Victorian furniture and gothic wall art had nothing to do with the ominous feeling in the room.

"_Ce?_" was her father's response. Sam shared a confused look with Dean as Marishka walked over to a closet door and threw jacket into the small room.

"_Am adus Winchester,"_ she called back.

"_Eu sunt în bucătărie draga_," a booming voice called from a few rooms over.

"Are they speaking Russian?" Dean whispered to Sam.

"No I think—"

"Romanian actually," Marishka responded. "My father said that he is in the kitchen. Please follow me and try to pay attention."

Dean fixed Sam with a sarcastic look and motioned for him to keep his hand on his gun. Sam followed Marishka through the house until they stopped at the kitchen.

A large man—Sam guessed he was at least 6 foot 7—was seated at a long mahogany dining table, surrounded by a multitude of paperwork. Marishka had said her father was eccentric, and well, he _looked_ eccentric. His skin was ghostly pale, so pale it was as if he hadn't seen the light of day for at least ten years. He had long white hair and a beard to match it along with very large horn rimmed glasses.

Marishka leaned down to kiss her father on the cheek, accidentally knocking over a stack of his papers in the process.

"My apologies, father," she said, bending over to pick up the stack. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught Dean not-so-covertly checking out her ass.

"Dean Vinchester," her father snapped, abruptly turning on him. Dean couldn't help the smirk that rose to his face. He had to physically stop himself from laughing at his ridiculous accent. "You vill respect my daughter while you are in our home. Vatch vere you are putting your eyes."

Marishka abruptly stood up, her face coloring a deep red and set the papers down onto the table. Dean smiled crookedly at her and awkwardly coughed after catching a look from Sam.

_Can't even case a girl these days without getting your head bitten off,_ he thought somewhat bitterly.

"Please have a seat," Marishka gestured to the other dining chairs. "I'll make some beverages." Dean and Sam took two of the adjoining sits next to Mr. Alenikov.

"Bring out the bottle of red vine, Marishka," her father ordered, "and then heat up some _borsch _if you please."

Dean watched her go as she exited the kitchen, heading to the cellar. He could feel the old man's eyes on him, however, and turned back towards him.

"Forgive me for not making the appropriate introductions," he coughed loudly. "I am Yuri Alenikov and I vas friends vith your father."

"Dean and Sam," Sam said. "But you obviously know that."

"_Da_," Yuri answered with a sigh. "You're father helped me eradicate the coven that has plagued this town for centuries. On that note, vere is he and vhy is her not vith you?"

"_Ve _are trying to figure that out," Dean offered, imitating his accent. Yuri fixed him with a flat look and Dean looked away. "He disappeared on me not too far back, so I went and grabbed Sammy over here to help track him down."

"Ah, I see." The old man absentmindedly stroked his beard, giving Dean the strong urge to pantomime his actions simply to see what his reaction would be. Midway through raising his hand, however, he decided against it. "I vish I could say that I had heard from your father, but I have not. I have not spoken to him for near six months."

There was a strangeness to the old man's tone that Dean didn't like. Not one bit. He shared a guarded look with his brother, seeing that he had the same expression on his face.

"Look Yuri, you seem like a nice man and all—" Sam started.

"But you vant proof that I am not going to betray you?" Yuri raised his eyebrows. He nodded, continuing to stroke his beard. "That is understandable."

At that moment, Marishka reappeared into the kitchen, holding an uncorked bottle of wine in her arms. She set the bottle down on the counter and grabbed a few glasses, starting to pour the sweet red liquid down.

"Dam straight," Dean muttered. _Crazy old man must think we're stupid or something._

Yuri's eye twitched as glared at Dean Winchester. "Boy, this is my house. I've invited you into my home, allowed you see my daughter—"

"Father," Marishka interrupted politely. "Would you like some bread with your wine?"

"Yes Marishka, that would be lovely," he said flatly. Seeing that he was about to continue his verbal tirade against Dean, Marishka stepped in once more.

"Father perhaps you should explain the extent of your relationship with John Winchester? It would be the most prudent thing to do."

Dean raised his eyebrows, smirking at Marishka. _Maybe she wasn't as clueless as she appeared to be._

"Mind your tongue Marishka," Yuri warned. She set the glasses of wine and a plate of bread down in between them and walked back to the kitchen counter, beginning the process of chopping up some vegetables. "Your father visited our town about seven years ago, after hearing rumors of our vampire problem. He offered his help, and I accepted. My boys vere young then and inexperienced in the vays of the hunt. Marishka was but a young girl. You're father helped me kill all of the vampires and he left."

"That's it?" Sam asked.

"Vell yes," Yuri shrugged. "After that, ve merely stayed in contact for a long vhile. He has visited on numerous occasions, although most of them vere slightly more than social calls. He has become vithdrawn in the past six months, I have noticed."

"We've been a little busy," Dean answered gruffly. "But more to the point. _We_ are here for a reason obviously. The attacks have started up again. If the coven was eradicated then why have there been more recent attacks?" Dean asked.

"Ve—your father and I—were not as thorough as ve thought ve vere." Yuri shook his head. "As soon as Marishka informed me of your arrival in town, I knew that God's grace had sent you to me."

Dean watched as Marishka's shoulders dropped at this statement and she glared at her father from her station at the kitchen counter. He didn't seem to sense her anger. _Talk about dysfunctional._

"Naturally," Dean rolled his eyes, watching as Marishka approached with a large bowl of steaming hot—_borsch _was it?—and laid it on the table, setting the utensils down before taking a seat across from Sam.

Yuri sighed, spooning some of the borsch into his mouth. "I am too old to hunt. My vision is failing me as well as my hearing. For me to hunt alone would be suicide. My sons have gone off into the vorld and Marishka is unable to hunt in her current condition."

Dean snapped his head up. _Condition?_ She seemed perfectly healthy from the looks of things.

"Condition?" Sam asked the question for him.

"Papa!" she snapped. "I am perfectly able to hunt. You taught me yourself! If anyone is unfit to hunt it is they! They don't even know how—"

"Marishka, I vill not ask you again," Yuri growled. "Mind your tongue vhen ve have guests!"

Marishka hung her head shamefully, desperately trying to cover up the reddening of her face. "Apologies papa."

"As I vas saying," Yuri continued, ignoring the crestfallen look on his daughters face. Dean tried to catch her eye, feeling somewhat guilty for the look on her face—

_ Whoa whoa, _he stopped those kind thoughts right in their tracks. _For what reason should I feel shitty about her feeling shitty? She's a bitch!_

But even that didn't stop the thought that pegged Yuri as an over protective and controlling father. He obviously thought of Marishka as a fragile, young girl. _Which is what she is, _Dean reminded himself.

_Still, _Dean thought, _this is not a normal family._

"—is a voman and she really can't do much else but make a suitable Christmas dinner," Yuri sighed as Dean tuned back into the conversation. "Unfortunately, I need all the help I can get and that includes my daughter."

"How did she know it was us?" Sam asked.

"The point is," Yuri interjected, before Marishka could open her mouth again, "you two haven't an inkling as to how to kill a vampire—"

"Wooden stake through the heart?" Dean guessed.

"Do not speak out of turn, Dean," Yuri warned, causing Dean to blanch. _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ "I vill teach you. Ve vill vait until the full moon passes—"

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Let's kill these sons of bitches now."

"The full moon grants them more strength," Marishka whispered.

Yuri continued on as if neither of them had spoken. "—then together, ve vill destroy this coven once and for all."


End file.
